


The Slum

by Black_Dawn, egmon73



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, POV Lestrade, POV Mycroft Holmes, Written for CrushedRose’s birthday, “Alicia” is a good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-06-06 07:37:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15189965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Dawn/pseuds/Black_Dawn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/egmon73/pseuds/egmon73
Summary: Mycroft and Greg are both undercover in a pub. They meet and ... attraction is evident.They both have to coordinate private and working life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrushedRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrushedRose/gifts).



> Written by daynaan (Black_Dawn) and Egmon73 for Crushedrose’s birthday.  
> Betaed by the great Brooklyn09.

**Chapter 1**

Greg exited the tube and headed towards his new target. The Slum was a rough club, and it could be worse if it was the centre of the drugs market in the area.

This mission was the last one. At least he was back in London. It wasn’t like he missed a quiet job, he loved the adrenaline running through his veins. But he was getting tired of going undercover. That was why his last boyfriend left him. Hectic working hours and dangerous missions didn’t help one maintain a steady relationship.  Or maybe his ex just wasn’t the right guy.

Greg threw away the cigarette butt and entered the pub. It was just 7 p.m and the place was going to get crowded in half an hour. He took a seat at the left side of the counter where he could see the whole place and still be near the exit. Luckily, there was a TV, at least he could watch the football match on the screen. He ordered a pint, it would be the only one that night.

The barman put the pint on the counter in front of Greg, “Here mate.” Greg noted the barman’s hand on the glass, a pale hand with beautiful long fingers. The voice that went with the hands was deep and sexy. As he raised his head, he found two big blue eyes staring curiously at him. “Are you all right?” the sexy voice spoke again. Clearly, his face betrayed his surprise.

He wondered why he didn’t notice the barman before, a tall man with blonde hair, blue eyes, and the sexiest voice he had ever heard. “Yes thanks, I’m ok.”

“Good!! It seemed as if you were going to pass out,” the guy laughed and Greg laughed back, the night of work was getting better. As the barman moved to serve other customers, Greg had the chance to see him better, adding a perfect arse to the list of appreciations. Greg sincerely hoped the guy had nothing to do with the drug market, it would be a waste.

Greg spent the evening at the counter, and, after that awkward beginning, they had the chance to talk a bit during the barman’s quiet moments. Greg introduced himself using his fictitious undercover name, Paul. The barman's name was Myc, he had been the barman there since the week before. Greg found himself adding other things to the appreciation list - Myc was a very smart guy, with a huge talent to read people and he was a Trekker.

**X**

Mycroft knew it was necessary but he could not stop hating it. Legwork, and in a damn peasant pub, nonetheless! Going undercover as a barman was annoying to say the least, constantly in contact with people, with whom he had to chat and smile. Argh. He needed to remind himself constantly that he was doing it for Queen and Country. There was possibly a separatist group meeting and plotting in that pub, the members of which were keen on violence and terrorism. He had to verify whether that information was correct and determine how many – and preferably also who – were involved. He wanted to climb the hierarchy ladder of the British Government and this was an excellent occasion to prove what he was capable of doing. Unfortunately, to do so, he also needed to endure being around and having contact with …strangers. The last mortification was the dye he had to use on his hair: platinum blonde. He looked like a male escort and the fact that he was a closeted gay did not help.

Mycroft was a linguist. His ability with languages was astonishing and he could pass for a native in at least 6 different idioms. This helped immensely to disguise his rather high class (some would call it posh) accent and to pretend that he was an East End boy. Not even other East Enders could spot the difference, which made Mycroft rather smug.

Thanks to all the above, and to some fake but well written recommendations and an Oscar winning job interview, Mycroft got the barman position at The Slum and had started to serve beers and related drinks one week ago.

 

**XX**

The following day when Greg showed up at The Slum again, Myc wasn’t on shift yet. But that was ok as Greg needed time to make acquaintances among the locals and try to get information about the drug market which, it seemed from the first chat, the barman wasn’t aware of.

He played pool with some lads; the more they talked the more he thought he was in the right place.

Greg loved to play the role of a lowlife guy, he loved to use his cockney accent. The job really fit him even though he was in his thirties. He hoped this mission could move him towards a promotion. He’d like to have a team of his own and maybe leave the dirty jobs to someone else.

 As Myc took his place at the counter, Greg sat at the side of the bar where he could chat with the guy and observe the entire place.

He was amazed by the barman. Myc moved like a cat, his sexy hands were moving deftly between bottles and glasses. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the shoulder, giving Greg a good view of his freckled arms.  Greg wondered if the freckles were just there or all over Myc’s body and how he would love the chance to find out.

Two regulars ordered some drinks and brought their order to a private room. Greg followed them with his eyes and he knew that was the room he was looking for.

**XXX**

Mycroft was worried that they had been misguided, because no suspicious activity was noticeable. That night, however, things seemed to change.

Men dressed in black were going back and forth to the back room of the pub. The back room was indeed much more spacious than a standard one, it even included tables and chairs. But unfortunately Mycroft’s knowledge of pubs was equal to zero and he could not spot this detail in the beginning. In his defence, it could be added that since the second week of his shift, he had to use all his energy to not constantly stare at a black haired man with big chocolate eyes who seemed to be very interested in him. The man was incredibly handsome, sporting a muscular body and pretty face, with a posture which exuded confidence. Mycroft was used to being in contact with rather dashing gentlemen; this one, however, was different.  Mycroft tried to analyse him, he was good at reading people, and the results of his analysis were rather startling. A kind, honest, human being. How rare! The man, Paul was his name, looked like a poor chap, but appearances could be deceiving. Mycroft knew that the man was hiding something and he was keeping his fingers crossed that he was not one of the terrorists he was chasing. Something inside himconvinced him that the secret Paul was keeping was not that.

Mycroft felt Paul’s eyes on him frequently. He managed to feel a brush of his fingers while serving him a beer, a quick imperceptible brush which sent electrostatic energy all through his spine. Mycroft had never felt something like that before. The man generally had only one beverage, after which he simply stopped drinking, a rather awkward behaviour for a young man.

After 10 days of observing Paul each evening, while simultaneously collecting evidence of the separatists’ activity and informing his superiors, Mycroft was convinced that Paul had nothing to do with the separatists’ cells, although he knew Paul was not who he pretended to be. He was also convinced more and more that the curvature of Paul’s arse was a mathematical equivalent to perfection. Mycroft was wondering whether he was having a delayed teenager time. He felt as if his hormones had decided to flood his body now, in his late twenties. He felt completely embarrassed - normally he was very good at hiding attractions and emotions. The best course of action would likely be to organize an ambush of the separatists in order to wipe out the cell. Then he could quit his barman undercover job and … his daily exposure to Paul.

**XXXX**

 

Before the first ray of light, when everybody was still sleeping, a tall figure with a black leather jacket forced open the locked door to the back room and went inside.

Greg easily found the proof of the drug trade, and something more. There were other papers about locations in London, open places and private buildings. New Scotland Yard would surely find this information very interesting.

He left everything as he found it and headed to the NSY offices to report and make plans for the drug bust.

 

To Be Continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 

Mycroft tried to be as detached and professional as possible, but, unfortunately, he had to see Paul every day. He was a customer after all, and talking to him was pleasantly _nice_.

The man was not only gorgeously handsome, but he also had brains; a deadly combination that Mycroft was finding harder and harder to resist. In those days, it was still somewhat dangerous to come out as a homosexual, but it was not illegal anymore and he was sure he saw Paul checking his posterior more than once.

Even Mycroft could admit that among his physical characteristics, which were not particularly attractive in general, his pert arse was probably the best one. He was determined to show it off as much as possible and check Paul’s reaction to avoid any risk of having misunderstood the man’s interest. It would be a catastrophe otherwise.

He hated to lie to someone who could become a potential …oh well maybe it was just his own dream! He was undercover and the mission was very delicate. He also knew that Paul was hiding something as well.

He tried to be sincere and as honest about himself as possible, without jeopardizing the undercover investigation. So he confessed to having a degree (he disclosed only one of them, the additional ones and the PhDs were omitted) and that being a barman was not exactly his dream job. Paul was always listening in an engaged manner, shockingly not put off by his weird interests and distaste for... mingling with people.

 

**X**

“Are you sure, Lestrade?”

Greg nodded again. “Yes Sir, this guy, the barman, has nothing to do with the drug trade. He’s just been working there for the last few weeks after the former barman left on short notice. He’s a good guy, he has a degree, he said he needed to work to pay his rent but he hopes to find something better.”

“He seems to have made a positive impression on you Lestrade. I hope you know what you’re doing. Does he make good drinks at least?”

“Don’t know sir, I just have a pint when I’m on shift.” Greg wanted to add _( but I’d like to discover his other abilities)._ Instead, he kept his mouth shut. He managed to plan the drug bust on Myc’s day off, it was the only opportunity to keep him clean and prevent any risk.

“You won’t be part of the ambush Lestrade” the boss told him at the end of their meeting.

“Why not? I did all the job alone! It’s my case!” replied Greg harshly.

“No it’s not, Lestrade, it’s a New Scotland Yard case and you will be more helpful if you stay clean. If the drug bust goes wrong I need you to investigate further. “

“But sir, what am I going to do?”

“Oh come on Lestrade it will be your day off. Take one of those secretaries from the first floor on a date. They've been flirting with you every morning!!! And now shove off!!!"

 

**XX**

“Holmes, did you manage to make a list of individuals belonging to the cell?” His boss was a very intelligent man, very demanding but a pleasure to work with. One of the few people who could challenge him intellectually. It was only a matter of his boss's major experience. When it came to sheer intelligence, Mycroft was superior, but he was also humble enough to understand that he could learn a lot from this overweight bearded man.

“Yes Sir. All names are in the list attached to my report.”

“Well done, Holmes. Please arrange the ambush with Agent P and describe advise him of the various entrances and exits of the pub. We want to surprise them when they are meeting all together. Since we might still need you to stay undercover in case someone manages to escape, you will not participate in the ambush. I understand that your free day is on Tuesday, so your absence will not raise any suspicion.”

“This is correct, Sir. P and I will prepare a plan with the other agents for an ambush next Tuesday and submit it for your approval.”

“Tomorrow on my desk. Dismissed now.”

Mycroft left the office and called Martin, code name Agent P. They have a lot of work to do.

 

**XXX**

“What do you usually do on your day off?” Greg asked point-blank.

The question caught Myc unprepared. Greg could read it in his eyes, which opened wide.

“I.. I do the laundry, clean my flat, read a book.. something like that. " Mycroft held Paul’s gaze trying not to blush. ”Why?”

“Because I’d like to know how you are outside of this dirty place. I could bet you’re different. Plus this afternoon on the tube I saw there’s a new Star Trek movie at the cinema. I think we both could enjoy the evening, at least I hope so. Next Tuesday then?”

Myc served two cocktails then turned to him. “"What makes you think I’m going to say yes?”

Greg smirked. “You’ve got nothing to lose and maybe something to win?”

“Sassy man!” Mycroft knew he should have said “ _no_ ” instead his tongue won against his brain. “Ok then. Next Tuesday.”

Greg raised his glass as if to make a toast then left the counter and walked towards the lads at the pool table hoping Myc’s gaze was following him.

 

**XXXX**

Mycroft started fretting. He had a date! Paul wanted to see him on Tuesday, his day off. It was also the day of the ambush. What if his colleagues needed his help? On the other hand, he had been ordered to stay undercover. He could go to the cinema and wherever Paul intended, and he could tell Martin where he'd be so he would be always reachable in case of they needed him.

They should invent portable telephones less bulky than those which were now available. 

He needs to decide what he's going to wear for his date. He has not had a date in a very long while. He could not really believe that such a handsome man as Paul could have an interest in him.

Maybe it was the platinum blond color covering his natural red that was improving his overall appeal? What if Paul discovers that he has freckles all over his body? Mycroft sighed. It would only be a problem if his clothes came off his body, and this is probably hoping – shouldn’t it be fearing? – too much from a first date.

He should get a grip on his feelings. It was time to go to The Slum to start his shift, which means another occasion to see the chocolate-eyed man…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter.. i know.. but... ;)

Chapter 3

Tuesday came in the blink of an eye. Greg spent the whole day planning the drug bust. He was still angry at his boss for excluding him, this could have been the opportunity for his career to. move forward. Then again, he should be grateful for the day off. He had a date. Which was quite weird because his last date had been a total failure. The guy complained the whole evening about the law system in England and about the Police only because he parked in a forbidden place and he got his car removed... It couldn’t work.

After a long and relaxing shower Greg chose the clothes from his small wardrobe, a pair of clean black jeans, a black shirt, combat boots and his precious black leather jacket.

As he grabbed his wallet, the keys of his motorbike and a second helmet for Myc he realized he forgot to tell his date he moved around London on his bike.

_Biker Greg_ was totally different from _Paul_ and starting a date on false pretenses could become another failure, but Greg hoped he would be able to reveal his true identity soon.   (It was too late to cancel the date and truthfully, Greg didn’t want to. He may never have another chance.

They had agreed to meet in front of the cinema and when Greg arrived he got  a surprise. There were a lot of people outside, three police cars and an ambulance. Greg parked a distance away and took his helmet off.  “Oh fuck !! And now how am I going to find him?” he murmured.

Mycroft spotted Paul as he arrived. Paul didn’t tell him he rode a motorbike, but with a body like his, Mycroft was able to recognize him before he even took off the helmet.

The motorbike claimed Mycroft’s attention. It was an old Triumph model and looked to be well kept. Again something about the guy sounded weird. Mycroft moved towards Paul and as he got closer he heard Paul swearing .

“Luckily I’ve found you first! “ he spoke and Paul turned his head towards him.

"Myc!! Oh fuck !! Yes!!! What happened? “

“I just arrived a couple of minutes before you and I really don’t know but I can tell you there’s no chance we're watching the movie tonight.”

Greg ran his hand through his hair ..What if…

“Do you fancy a ride?” As soon as he spoke Greg knew he said it in the wrong way and he blushed under Mycroft's gaze. “Well.. Not... I didn’t mean .. It’s too soon.. No.. Wait not too soon to ride.. the bike…. “

Myc looked curiously as Paul tried to correct the disastrous premise.

“I meant you didn’t have dinner yet, as we were supposed to eat something after the movie, correct?” Mycroft nodded smiling and Greg carried on. “ I know I didn’t ask if you liked motorbikes but what if we go just a few miles outside London? We could have dinner near the river bank, somewhere quieter. “

The proposal caught Mycroft by surprise, the date was changing completely and the truth was he would be losing control of it. As he looked into Paul's big brown eyes he felt butterflies in his stomach. It could be worth a try. The evening was still young and the thought of a ride holding on to Paul’s body could be a new, and very welcome, experience.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

Mycroft took his place on the bike behind Paul. It wasn’t the first time he had ridden a motorbike but it was the first time he wasn’t the driver. His father was a big collector of motorbikes. Their garage at the Holmes Manor in Sussex held more than fifty vintage motorcycles, and Mycroft learned how to ride a motorbike on his father’s Moto Guzzi Airone 250 sport, registered in 1950.

Maybe some day he could share his inherited passion for bikes with someone else. Someone kind. Someone loving. Holding Paul’s body tightly, Mycroft realized how much he wanted Paul to be ” _the someone_ ”he was looking for. Already, the fact that Paul had shown some interest towards him had been a boost for his self-esteem. Self-esteem that in this area, in his appeal as a potential boyfriend, was very, very low. Probably, this was the reason why he always sought praise for his intelligence. Praise in that area was easily obtained and served as a crutch for his ego.  

However, pretending to be a barman when he was an MI 5 agent wasn’t a good foundation on which to build a relationship.  Mycroft knew his life would always contain secrets that could not be shared with a partner. It was all part of being a secret agent of Her Majesty. However, there was a different level of deceit involved. It was one thing to refuse to share state secrets with your partner. To hide the core of who you are was something else entirely. And Mycroft really wanted to be liked ” _could he dare say to be loved?_ “ for what he was. 

What Mycroft didn’t know, was that he was holding the body of an undercover cop in his arms. He had sensed something in Paul - his deduction skills did not betray him - but he did not want to linger too much on his thoughts. He did not want to make his brother’s error of not being able to stop deducing and push away all the people around him. He could set his skills aside and in that very moment, he simply wanted to enjoy Paul’s close physical proximity.

Greg felt how tightly Myc the barman was holding him, his body glued to his, and read it as a clear sign of interest. As soon as he could, he put his hand on Myc’s knee and squeezed it.

It took about thirty minutes to get to the center of the small village. Greg parked and they got off the motorbike. “Here we are!” he said, showing the old houses and the river in front of them.

“And where are we, precisely?”  Mycroft asked. He had never been there before.

“We are in Strand-on-the-Green *, located to the east of Kew Bridge, along the north bank of the river Thames. Three of the oldest pubs in the London area are here, all established in the 18th century.   You can breathe history here!” Greg replied proudly. He loved to travel in and outside London searching for quiet spots like this, full of history and good food. He hoped his guest would love it too.

Mycroft felt the other man’s gaze on him, he was clearly hoping he loved the place. He gave a look around and nodded. "I’ve never breathed so much history before. Why don’t we have a little walk around to see the place before dinner?” he said smiling and saw Paul’s face relax due to his words.

They walked around chatting about everything and nothing until their stomachs begged for food. They chose the “Bull’s Head” ** near the bank and ordered food and beer, both of them enjoying the company and forgetting the drug bust and the ambush their teams were engaged in at the moment. Mycroft for once did not care about his diet. He ordered the same food Paul had chosen. Eating with one's fingers should not be allowed, especially when the one eating was a handsome chocolate eyed man with a wicked grin on his face. The movement of Paul’s fingers in and out his mouth while eating his chips was almost erotic in nature. Mycroft had to keep himself under strong control so as not to kiss either that mouth or those fingers.

A concert was scheduled for the evening in the main square and suddenly the place became more crowded.

“Do you want to listen to some music?” Greg asked, pointing at the stage and the band playing covers of Beatles’ songs.

Mycroft gave a look at the crowd and nodded his head. He definitely needed a distraction, although the music was probably not his favorite. Staring at Paul’s fingers could become too obvious, “If you agree, we could find someplace out of the way and listen to the concert from there. " As they moved from the pub they found it was difficult to walk and twice they were almost separated in the crowd. As soon as Greg could, he grabbed Myc’s hand and they headed outside the mass.

It was easier to walk on the river bank and they climbed down to reach some benches Greg had spotted during their first walk. Greg didn’t let go of Myc’s hand, and Mycroft himself didn’t think about loosening his grip.

Mycroft was eyeing their connected hands constantly, not believing what was happening. Without Paul’s braveness, he would not have dared to interlace their fingers.  His heart was beating fast in his chest, a light feeling of dizziness pervading his body. He was astonished and delighted at the same time to have caught Paul’s interest. The awareness that he was lying to this beautiful man, substantially betraying him, did not allow him to enjoy the moment fully. He could get lost in those brown eyes so easily.

They sat quietly in the darkness listening to the music, making some comments now and then about the performance, their hands still interlaced.

The band was very good at playing The Beatles, they performed some of their most popular songs – “All you need is Love”, “Yesterday” and "Eleanor Rigby”, and Mycroft found himself singing along to the band and to Paul.

To the tune of “Love me do “ Greg’s attention was caught by a light in the sky - a falling star.  

"Hey!" He jumped from the bench to see it better. “I’ve never seen one before!”

Mycroft raised his eyes to the sky but the falling star had disappeared.  "You should make a wish then. But I should warn you, my wishes have never come true.”

“What did you wish for? Money, acknowledgement?” Greg asked, hoping to hit the point.

Mycroft sighed. “I could have a lot of money from working hard, and I could get more acknowledgement just by studying more. Love, I asked for love, but I’ve never received it." He felt Paul’s gaze fixed on him. “Go on, make your wish and do not tell anyone what it is, or it won’t happen."

Greg closed his eyes for a minute and when he opened them again, he fixed his gaze on Myc. When he looked around they were still hidden in darkness and they were alone, the other spectators were closer to the stage. He moved closer to Mycroft and leaned in to kiss him. It was just a peck on his lips but when Myc didn’t retreat, it became a real kiss. Greg put his hands on Mycroft’s back to hold him closer and Mycroft rested his hands on Greg’s hips.

Paul’s mouth was divine. Myc felt Paul's soft lips moving on his, sending thrills of excitement along his spine. He dared to open his mouth to let their tongues touch, but the sensation was almost too much. It was not the place to get overexcited; he needed to get a grip on himself and his feelings. He hoped Paul would understand why he couldn't go beyond kissing in a public place.

As they parted the band was still singing “Love me do”and they both thought it could be a good sign.

“It seems my wish has come true” Greg murmured on Myc’s lips.

“Did you wish this?” Mycroft replied, amused.

“Well I did have a little help, " Greg smiled, thinking of Mycroft's own wish for love. Greg pressed his lips to Myc’s again and deepened the kiss as he got a favorable reaction. Mycroft was just ecstatic, but he tried not to lose control completely. It would have been damn inconvenient and uncomfortable to go back to the bike with a raging erection.

They stayed there on the bench in the darkness, just holding each other and kissing until the concert ended. Mycroft looked at his watch, it was ten to eleven. He remembered the ambush, The Slum and the terrorists. In any case, he had to be at his office by 8 the next morning. He felt guilty to have forgotten his job and role so easily. His colleagues might have faced danger and perils during the ambush while he was enjoying himself with this beautiful man. He should have been more focused on duty. He hoped to get all the information he needed on the ambush as soon as they were back in London. He metaphorically kept all his fingers crossed that everything went well and no one on his team has been injured or compromised.

Greg, too, looked at his watch, suddenly remembering the drug bust and the work that was waiting for him tomorrow.

“It’s time to go back, isn’t it?” he asked, already knowing the answer, and thinking that Myc would probably soon learn he didn’t have a job any more. The Slum would be closed for sure.

They walked towards the motorbike, their hands brushing together as they moved. As Greg gave Myc his helmet, he squeezed Myc's hand and Myc squeezed his back. It was all they could share in an open area in the 80’s.

They heard the first rumblings of thunder as they began their trip back in London. There were big black clouds in the sky above the city and when they were halfway there, the rain began to fall. Greg stopped under a bridge and took off his helmet, telling Myc, “It’s a thunderstorm, we will be totally drenched before I can get you home. My flat is five minutes from here, we could wait there until it stops. It’s a summer rain, so it won’t last long.”

Mycroft agreed and they made their way towards Paul's flat. When they arrived, Mycroft waited under the porch awning while Paul brought the motorbike to the backyard. When he returned, he was completely soaked.

Greg felt his clothes sticking to him uncomfortably and as he closed the door, he tossed his wallet and keys on the table and started undressing. He felt Myc’s gaze on him, and when Greg looked at him, his blue eyes were fixed on his body, his mouth slightly open. Greg took Myc’s hand and pulled him towards him, running his hands through Myc's blonde, spiked hair while he kissed him. Greg deepened the kiss as he felt the other man’s arousal against his thigh. Greg’s used one hand to undress Myc while his other hand gripped his ass, pressing their hips together.

All of Mycroft's reservations went out of the window. He wanted this man and for once in his life he decided to be selfish. He wanted to desire and feel desired. Paul seemed to be a good person. He would not harm him, or bribe him, Mycroft felt sure of it. Being openly gay was still a liability; in this respect the fact that Paul was not aware of his identity was an advantage.  

They should have known to do this now was misguided, but in that very moment, their brains could have cried out loud for them to stop, and the protests would have gone unheeded.

Too much desire, too much need. Mycroft often hoped to be able to switch off his brain and all his constant thinking. What many considered a gift, for him was often a curse. He realized that he could do it, stop thinking, when he was overwhelmed by desire and feeling. Maybe feeling wanted, desired, overwhelmed by lust was better than any medicine.  The feeling of Paul’s warm, callused hands on his body was amazing. In a heartbeat, he found himself naked. Paul was now taking care of his clothes too, throwing them around carelessly on the floor. He was magnificent. He had a sculpted body, a lovely defined six pack, and a trail of dark hair leading to an erect cock. Mycroft tried to suck in his belly, all of a sudden very much aware of his less attractive physical details. As soon as these thoughts started to gather in his brain, Paul pushed him on his bed and, with some expert strokes and licks, made him forget everything.  He was forced to concentrate only on not coming on the spot.

 

It was five in the morning when Mycroft awoke, Paul’s warm body spooning him from behind, his hand on Mycroft’s bare hip. Mycroft moved the hand without waking the owner and silently walked to the living room where his clothes laid on the floor. He dressed quickly, still feeling beautifully sore in certain parts, and hoped to leave before he had to explain to Paul why this couldn’t be more than a one-night-stand. Any further relationship would expose his true identity.

Before he made it to the door, he saw Paul’s wallet on the table. Mycroft had always been inquisitive by nature, a trait that benefited him with his job. The strange feeling he had earlier returned, telling him something about Paul was off. As he lifted the wallet from the table, Mycroft noticed it wasn’t the same wallet Paul had used when he was at The Slum. He opened it haltingly, and inside he found a driver's licence, and a police warrant card bearing the same name - "Gregory Lestrade- Scotland Yard”.

His eyes widened and the wheels in his brain started turning at a very high speed. He knew it. He knew that Paul  - no, _Gregory_  was not the person he pretended to be! He was worried he could have been a criminal, but no! A police officer! He had not been the only one hiding something!

As he left Greg's flat, hope started spreading in Mycroft’s heart. Maybe, just maybe there was a chance for them. A police officer could understand the need for going undercover and concealing some “details”.  A police officer had security clearance, and could be allowed to know his identity. He definitely had to investigate this “Gregory Lestrade” from Scotland Yard and see if he could be allowed to disclose his identity to him. But first, he had to find out what happened last night at The Slum **.**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strand-on-the-Green
> 
>  
> 
> **https://www.chefandbrewer.com/pubs/greater-london/bulls-head/


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to our amazing beta Brooklyn09 for her endless patience.

Chapter 5

 

The ringing of the phone woke Greg at six.  He answered automatically, “Lestrade”, and suddenly remembered Myc was sleeping next to him in bed, but when he turned he saw the other side was empty, and cold.

His colleague had to repeat the message twice. "The boss wants to talk to you Greg, you have to be here as soon as possible. Greeg? Are you listeniiing? ”

“Is it about the drug bust?  What happened?” Greg tried to clear his mind without thinking about anything else. “Nothing at all. MI5 stopped us when we were ready to go.”

“MI5? But..”

“Nothing more.“  The man hung up and Greg stared at the now silent telephone.

He gave a quick look around but Myc and his clothes were gone.

“Fuck.. fuck.” He discharged his rage at the boxing sack until his hands ached then headed to the shower. If his boss waited until six to ask for him he could wait a while longer.

The hot spray of water washed his body while his mind wandered elsewhere. He couldn’t explain why Myc left without a word. The evening went well and the night.. he hadn't had anything so good for such a long time, and he didn’t want it to end. It seemed that someone else –damn Myc! - made the decision for him without even asking. It felt so…wrong. Last night had been so good and he was sure it had been good for Myc too. He had been shy at the beginning, but some gentleness from him did wonders and, well, the ensuing sex had definitely been hot. He could still feel Myc’s smooth, soft skin under his fingertips. They fell asleep together and this amount of trust, being completely vulnerable to someone, was, as least for him, not given so easily. He really thought it could have been the beginning of something more than just a one night fling. Greg wanted to go back to bed, curl under the blankets and try to forget everything, in particular the freckled, pale skin that was still occupying most of his brain. Unfortunately, that was not possible.

At 7 am Greg knocked on his boss’ office door. The man looked at him. “Oh Lestrade come in, I hope your evening was better than mine!!! Nothing is better than a good shag. Who is the lucky girl? Anne?  Susan?”

“Sir..it’s not a talking point. "

“Oh yes I’m sorry Lestrade, you’re such a gentleman .. Anyway we were .. uhm.. _cock-blocked_  last evening by MI5. Three men and a woman, blonde, nice body I must admit, told us we were interfering with their investigation. They took all our documents about the case.  I told them I had an undercover agent who did the investigation from the inside. The blonde read all your reports and told me to bring you to their office this morning.”

“But I don’t know anything more than what I wrote in my reports, Sir. "

“I hope you’re telling the truth Lestrade or I will use your skin for my new armchair,” he said giving him a business card. “No name. Just tell them who you are when you get there. Now shove off.”

Greg’s boss was almost hoping to be able to blame Lestrade for something. The guy was a good cop, he had to admit, but women were completely fascinated by him. They were flocking around wherever he went and were making sweet eyes at him. Hell, if he were Lestrade, he would hop from one bed to another every single night. He was the boss, he should have the first choice, not that damn Sergeant. With a grin, he admitted to himself that the blonde seemed to be a tough one, so maybe this time Lestrade would not be able to convince her simply by batting his eyelashes.

Greg left the office and as he headed towards the lift, he could feel his colleagues’ eyes on him.

**

Mycroft stared at his mirrored image, the tailored suit, the pocket watch. The old Mycroft was back, but he knew it was only a fake one. He should have become an actor, not a secret agent. He could bluff admirably, and pretend to be what he was not. But his encounter with Greg made him revaluate everything.

The last mission had changed him, the Iceman’s heart had melted. ( _Y_ _es, because even if he always pretended to not have one, he was wrong. There was something burning, it was definitely a heart)._

He always considered people in love to be stupid. Caring so much for someone else was a weakness and a liability. In his job, these were not acceptable. In addition, caring for someone meant putting the beloved one at risk to be used as a pawn. However, for the first time in his life, he understood why many of his colleagues – despite knowing all that – still pursued their romantic relationships. Sex was somewhat easy. Love was definitely more complex.

He tried to comb his hair. He must find the time to dye it back to its natural colour. Now that everything was over, only his blond hair remained to remind him of the last weeks..… weeks in which he allowed himself to not only feel, but also to look, different. Weeks during which he completely shed the Iceman persona. Deep inside, he liked it. He had been less controlled in showing his emotions, he acted on his feelings.   

“ _Gregory Lestrade, New Scotland Yard ._ “ Mycroft smiled, again looking at his image in the mirror. “He must be a very good cop, he did a good job and fooled even Mycroft Holmes. "You didn’t understand the signals Mr. Holmes" he murmured at the mirror. His image didn’t reply, but there was the same smirk on his face. “You were too busy staring at his arse to use your brain correctly.”

Mycroft knew that the fact that the guy was a cop was a good thing at the end. They fooled each other so easily because their reciprocal attraction had overpowered their ability to think.. and it was quite bad for any development.

The events of the previous night were still vividly imprinted on Mycroft’s brain. The sex had been amazing. However, it was not just sex. The attraction and lust were evident, but Paul – Gregory – had been kind and gentle, taking care of him and making him feel desired and wanted. The warmth he felt in Gregory’s arms he had never felt with anyone else. Not that there was a long list of competitors, to be honest.

“Gregory, " Mycroft murmured. He felt so foolish for enjoying the sound of the name.

So, was this pain that he was feeling in his heart a warning not to repeat the experience? Should he go back to being the Iceman and was that his destiny?

The doorbell rang, stopping Mycroft’s train of thought. The car had arrived. Mycroft switched the light off and tried to hide his new burning feelings behind his mask.

***

There was a man in a black suit waiting for Greg when he arrived. The man didn’t say a word, but led him to what seemed to be an interrogation room situated in the depth of hell. That was how it was supposed to be. Suddenly the door opened and a blonde woman in a green tailored suit entered.

“Sergeant Gregory Lestrade, I’m glad you accepted our invitation to talk.”

“It doesn’t seem like a talk. This is an interrogation room and on the other side of that window, someone else is watching. “

“I’m sorry but the guest room is occupied,” the blonde answered. “I promise you the next time I invite you, I’ll book the executive lounge. "

“Who are you?” Greg asked, quite pissed by her sarcasm. “You know my name but I don’t know yours. "

The blonde smiled again. “Oh I’ve been rude. You can call me “Alicia”.

“Good. What do you want from me, “ _Alicia_ ”.”

“Straight to the point. Perfect. I like it. “ “ _Alicia_ ” had piercing, inquisitive eyes and Greg almost felt intimidated by her stare. He tried and managed to suppress a shiver along his spine. He realized he would have to behave professionally, this woman could be very powerful and very dangerous.  

Alicia unfolded some documents.  ”You were the undercover agent at The Slum under the name of Paul Kent. But you didn’t take part to the drug bust. Why?”

“There wasn't any drug bust. You stopped them before they could leave the Yard."

“Fair enough. The drug bust wasn’t on your schedule. Better?”

“The chief inspector said I was out because he didn’t want to expose me. He said he may need to use me again. Do you like that answer? I’m very angry about the decision. I did all the work there, talked with the people, found the evidence and all. But he cut me off. It wasn’t my choice to stay at home. "

“Uhh that’s bad. Gregory, did you watch the telly yesterday, all alone at home?”

“My private life has nothing to do with the case!” he yelled jumping out of his chair.

Alicia stretched like a cat on her seat. “Where were you yesterday night Gregory? And with who?”

“That has nothing to do with the case!” Greg said harshly, pacing all over the room.

“It‘s me who’s going to decide if it has anything to do with the case. Ok .. I’ll make it clearer. Last night you were on a date with the young barman from The Slum.”

Greg's face became pale “How did you..?”

The woman put both her hands on the table. “Gregory, I’m not interested in your sexuality, you could be gay, straight, bi or whatever you want to be, I really do not care. But the barman, how could you be sure he was innocent? You were on a date with a potential criminal and you protected him by planning the ambush on his day off. It sounds like a plan to me.”

“He’s not a criminal!” Greg heard himself yelling. “He had just worked there for two weeks. He’s a good person, and he doesn’t know anything about the drugs.”

“I see. Uhmmm… presuming you’re right and he’s innocent, where is he now?”

Greg sighed. “I don’t know. When I woke up this morning, he wasn’t there.”

“One-night stand?” she asked, nodding. “Are you used to this kind of quick relationship, Gregory?”

“No I’m not. And no, it’s not just a one-night stand. There is something more to it,  but it’s not your business anyway.”

The blonde smiled again. “Ok, let me recap it for you. You were the undercover agent at The Slum searching for evidence of the drug trade. You fell in love with the barman and you protected him from the ambush. Said “innocent barman” slipped out of your bed before dawn without even telling you goodbye and you still keep saying he didn’t know anything about the drugs."

While Alicia was listing all her winning points, she carefully looked at the man in front of her. She could understand why Mycroft had been attracted to him. He was definitely a gorgeous male specimen. And most importantly, he seemed to be loyal and smart. Maybe, a sexually satisfied Mycroft Holmes could be an even better agent, and the officer in front of her could be a decent candidate to fulfil that role.  If she managed to convince the incredibly stubborn Mycroft Holmes to do something about this….

“He’s a good guy. You don’t understand. You’re just a cold bitch.”

“The nice compliment has been noted Sergeant Lestrade. So, your boyfriend doesn’t know anything about the separatist group too?”

Greg raised his eyebrows. “Separatist group, what are you talking about?”

“See Greg, I can call you Greg, yes?  You were so busy looking for drugs that you didn’t know that there was a terrorist cell operating out of The Slum. You’ve been a little distracted, my dear.”

“That’s why you stopped the Yard?” Greg sat down in the chair again. “How did you know?”

“You weren’t the only undercover agent there, my dear. But our agent did a better job than you. We knew the drug operation at The Slum was being used to finance the separatists. We had to stop the Yard before they could ruin our investigation."

Her statement left Greg speechless. Another agent?

He ran his hands through his hair trying to keep his composure. “He has to be good to fool me.”

Alicia laughed. “Yes, he’s one of the best agents MI5 has ever had.”

“Did he know I was a cop?”

“Good question. I can tell you he knew you weren’t a menace.”

“I fooled him, as he fooled me , right? Who is he? I need to know..”

“That’s enough Sergeant Lestrade. I hope to see you again in better circumstances.” She gathered her documents and stood up.

“You didn’t answer!” Greg stood up too, he needed to know the name.

Alicia sighed and turn back to him. “And I won’t. But I can give you the same advice I gave to my best friend early this morning. If it wasn’t a one-night stand and if this guy means a lot to you, if you think he’s the right one, you should try to get him back before it’s too late. Good luck, Gregory. " _'And please go and claim that man, please, because you are definitely the one who could keep Mycroft Holmes somewhat happy,'_ Alicia finished thinking in her brain.

She left the room and Greg was still standing near the black window, overwhelmed by the weight of her words.

A couple minutes later, the same man in black came to collect him and escorted him outside the building.

**

Alicia exited the interrogation room and entered the room on the other side of the black window. There was a man in a three-piece suit standing there, his back to the door, his eyes fixed on the figure on the other side.

As she closed the door, he spoke.  “The best agent MI5 has ever had has been fooled.” He still did not look away from the man who was standing in the other room, not moving from the black window where Alicia had left him,  lost in thought. There was sadness in his brown eyes, but also something else that Mycroft could not discern from this distance.

“I didn’t say that,” Alicia replied.

“Indeed. My thought.”

Alicia joined the man near the window . "Good looking, magnificent shape and those eyes. And he likes you.“

“Not me. He likes Myc the barman. Who doesn’t exist anymore. He never existed.”

“Give it a try Mycroft. You will find that being human is not that bad. "

“Are you trying to play Cupid, _Alicia_?”

“Why not? You both need it. “

Gregory had indeed defended him in front of Alicia, and he knew how intimidating Alicia could be. Gregory admitted he was not doing one-night-stands, which was definitely a relief. However, what were Gregory’s feelings at discovering that he was not who he pretended to be? What was his reaction in learning that he was a MI5 agent? Could Gregory be attracted to Mycroft Holmes, secret agent, and not only to Myc the barman? And more importantly, could he open up to another person completely?

Mycroft did not know how to proceed. He looked again at the silhouette standing in the other room, at his beautiful body and at his expressive brown eyes. Then he remembered being the object of that mans attention, his tenderness, strength, intelligence. Maybe sometimes logic was not the only tool to be applied to make the correct decision.

**

Alicia’s words were still echoing in Greg’s mind. Did the woman give him a clue or had she just fooled him? Did she mean Myc the barman was the MI5 agent?

Shrugging he begun walking towards the Yard.

**

It was late in the afternoon when he finally got home. He didn’t notice the black car parked alongside the curb. The sound of the door drew his attention. As he raised his eyes he saw a man in a dark grey three piece suit, with a burgundy tie, matching pocket square and a pocket watch.

The man stared at him, smiling shyly.

“Your friend says you’re the best agent at MI5, " Greg said tentatively.

“She’s always excessive. " Mycroft took two steps forward. ”But she gave me good advice this morning.”

“She gave me advice too. Maybe it’s the same. “

“Could be, yes, she’s so repetitive sometimes.” Mycroft took two more steps over to Greg.

“She suggested I should start again.  Maybe I should follow her advice.” Greg tried to keep his voice steady but it was getting more difficult every second.

Mycroft opened his mouth then closed it again. He closed his eyes for just one second then opened them again while stretching out his hand. “Mycroft Holmes – Her Majesty’s Secret Service. "

Greg held Mycroft’s hand tight while smiling. “Gregory Lestrade – New Scotland Yard. "

_The end_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
